Night Visitor
by demonkatgurl17
Summary: Stiles is working himself over when he receives an unexpected visitor.


Stiles muffled his frustrated groan into his pillow, breathing raggedly through his nose.

He was naked in his darkened room, face down on his bed with two of his fingers buried as deep in his ass as he could get them.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't anywhere _near_ enough and it made Stiles want to cry, needing to be filled.

His cock was aching and full, leaking as he fruitlessly humped the bed, the friction of the sheets teasing him. His other hand was under the pillow, clutching at it in a desperate attempt to ground himself, trying not scream as completion danced away from his reach.

He'd been at this for so long, stretching himself out, sliding his fingers in and out, fast then slow. His wrist was killing him, but he couldn't stop, he had to keep going, he _needed_ to keep going, needed to fall off the edge of his pent up frustration until he crashed into sweet oblivion.

But he couldn't. Get. _Deep_. Enough.

Stiles shoved his fingers in punishingly hard, chastising his uncooperative body.

He froze when he heard a sound at his window.

No, not _at_ his window, it _was_ his window, the sound of the glass sheet being slid up slowly and carefully _from the outside_. Someone _outside_ was opening his window quiet as they could, and all Stiles could do was freeze, his hand jammed deep in his ass and his heart in his throat.

The only ones with the dexterity to get to his window from the outside were werewolves.

Quickly he flashed through his not so extensive list of possible intruders.

Couldn't be Scott, he'd have called if it was important. It couldn't be Jackson, he didn't give enough of a damn about Stiles to track him down in his own home. The same went for Isaac, really, and Erica and Boyd had left.

Peter, now, he was creepy enough for it, but there wasn't anything worth threatening Stiles for that the other wolves couldn't get for him.

Which left Derek. Who already had a history of helping himself into Stiles's room. Who had a habit of physically proving his dominance over the gangly teen in ways that made lonely nights that much more unbearable. Who could probably force his dominance over him right now and Stiles would be helpless against him.

Stiles's cock hardened impossibly further at the thought as it wept onto the sheets.

There was a soft thud, easily missed if Stiles hadn't been listening for it, tightly wound as he was.

Stiles's ass reflexively clenched down on his slick fingers, forcing them out a fraction.

In the quiet of the room, Stiles's harsh breathing was deafening, despite his attempts to even them out through his nose. There was no way that Derek could possibly misinterpret what Stiles was doing. His back was bare, exposed to the room, and his legs were obscenely spread apart, showing off his slick, stretched hole, wrapped tight around his own fingers.

He lay there waiting, hard as a rock with his ass on display, but there was nothing, no further sounds that indicated another person was in the room, watching Stiles finger himself and listening to the quick palpitations of his heart.

Stiles whimpered as need overrode his self-consciousness. Once again, he began sliding his digits in and out of his grasping hole, rocking his hips into the bed.

Lust-addled as he was, the naughtiness of having someone watching him like this, spread out and vulnerable, spurred him on, making him moan a little louder, thrust a little harder, thankful beyond words that his father was out the overnight shift tonight.

A dip of the mattress startled Stiles.

His fingers would have slid out altogether had it not been for the strong hand wrapped around his aching wrist, driving his fingers back in, deeper than Stiles could manage on his own.

A strangled moan left Stiles's throat as he mindlessly pushed back, grinding himself onto his own hand as Derek's shifted it roughly back and forth, setting a driving pace that made Stiles nuzzle his head into the pillow.

The sound of Derek's zipper being pulled down _torturously_ slow made Stiles's ass clench in anticipation and his mouth went dry from the need to be filled. He swallowed roughly, trying to moisten his tongue through his uneven panting.

The bed jostled as Derek moved around.

A sharp snap of the lube bottle being opened had Stiles's full attention. Derek tugged on his wrist, gently pulling Stiles's hand out of his ass, only to liberally coat it with lube, making sure to wet his palm. The action confused Stiles until he felt his hand being folded around Derek's cock, thick and hard and hot in his slick hand. He couldn't see the member but, _fuck_, it _felt_ gorgeous and Stiles licked his lips, wanting a taste.

Again, Derek directed Stiles's movements by his wrist, using Stiles's hand to glide up and down, spreading the liquid from root to tip. Taking the initiative, Stiles squeezed the turgid cock, his grip awkward from the uncomfortable twist of his arm, but it was easy to ignore his discomfort if Derek made _that_ sound again, a deep throaty growl from within his chest.

Thoroughly slicked up, Derek pulled Stiles's hand away and positioned Stiles up onto his knees, his ass in the air and his head down on the mattress. Stiles wrapped his arms around the pillow, uncaring about the mess he was getting all over it. He had a feeling he'd need to wash more than his pillow come morning and he twisted the lumpy pillow in anticipation.

Something hard and thick was at his entrance and there it was, Derek's cock pressing slowly in, letting Stiles get used to the unfamiliar feeling of being split open on someone's dick.

It was overwhelming, hot pressure slipping inch by inch into his bowels. He panted, feeling cold sweat break out across his skin, trembling beneath the weight of Derek and his long, thick cock. He felt like a bug, pinned in place and helpless. Derek petted Stiles's back and flanks, soothing the tremors wracking Stiles's body as he tried not to clench down on the unyielding length.

Finally, Derek bottomed out, his heavy balls against the curve Stiles's ass.

A large hand reached around to fondle Stiles's flagging dick, teasing it back to hardness and effectively distracting Stiles from the pain of being so _stretched_.

Little by little, Stiles's whimpers of hurt turned into moans of pleasure, rocking forward into Derek's grip then back onto his cock.

It started slowly, a gentle push forward and back, Derek letting Stiles fuck himself at leisure until slow wasn't enough. Stiles needed to speed up, needed the friction in him, on him, and so he pushed up onto his elbows, rocking faster, hands fisting in the sheets for leverage. It felt good, controlling the pace, but it was still there, that desire for more, deeper, _harder_ and Stiles was already at the limits of what his body could do.

He whined in frustration.

"Derek, _please_."

That was all the other man needed.

His hand released Stiles's dick, prompting a whine of loss from the teen. Firmly gripping Stiles's narrow hips, he pulled out a few inches and _slammed_ back in, driving a groan of relief from Stiles's throat.

_Finally._

Stiles tilted his head back and just _took_ what Derek gave him, letting the man drive in and out, pulling Stiles back onto his cock.

Derek pulled a hand off Stiles's hip to grip his neck, urging Stiles down until the side of his face was pressed to the mattress, keeping him down with a hand around his nape and _growling _as he pounded into Stiles's slick hole.

The sounds forced out of Stiles were high pitched and broken, bursting out of him under the relentless drive of Derek's cock. It was bliss, being used for Derek's pleasure, losing himself in the slick-slide of in and out, deeper and faster, _just_ this side of being too much.

His mind was wonderfully blank in a way Stiles could only achieve with the most back-bending of orgasms and Derek was creating it without a single stroke over his weeping erection, which hung heavy and forgotten as Derek fucked sparks into his eyes.

Every other thrust brushed against his prostate, pulling wretched mewls from him that he'd normally be ashamed of, but his pride had fled, followed by doubt and fear and every other conscious thought in his head.

There was only Derek's cock, pounding into him, making his toes curl and forget his fucking _name_.

Something snapped in Stiles, like a rubber band pulled too tight, and then he was _coming_, clenching hard around Derek, still moving inside him, fucking him through it. After the roaring left his ears, Stiles stopped clawing at the bed, his muscles going limp as his body was completely tapped out.

Derek released a rough, animalistic snarl before pushing in viciously, dragging Stiles back onto him by the grip on his neck and holding him still, rolling his hips in tight, uncontrolled movements as he spilled his come inside Stiles's relaxed hole.

For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of heavy breathing, Stiles boneless in an awkward heap on the bed with Derek still buried within him. Eventually, Derek eased out and Stiles winced at the soreness, semen oozing out of his hole in a warm trickle.

Stiles collapsed onto the bed as Derek finally let go of his hips, content to simply bask in the residual tingles of his best orgasm to date.

He felt Derek pull his cheeks apart, exposing his slack and abused hole. The flick of tongue against his sore pucker drew a whimper from Stiles as he lay prone on the bed. His breath hitched, overloaded as Derek licked and delved into his hole, tasting the mixed flavors of Stiles and himself.

Derek sunk blunt, human teeth into the back of Stiles's neck, bruising the skin there, marking him. Stiles held still, heart beating hard from having Derek's dangerous teeth on him as much as from his recent exertion.

He felt Derek pull away and roll off the bed. There was a grind of a zipper being pulled up followed by the quiet shutting of his window before Stiles found the energy to turn over.

Derek was gone, as though he'd never stole into Stiles's room and made him quake under his touch.

After wiping up the mess with a discarded shirt, Stiles flopped back onto his bed, smiling and wondering if leaving his window open in the future would lead to more earthshattering nights like this.


End file.
